How The Great Gatsby should've ended
by DiscontentedLlama
Summary: The title says it all. I won't give the rest away. ;


RATING: T FOR TEENS! :D

Author's note: Obviously the first 312 words or are taken from the book. They are just there to give you a grasp of the context in which this scene takes place. The rest is mine and I have taken care to kill off all the characters that annoyed me.

PS: You may need extensive knowledge of German in order to enjoy this in its full, or just have Google Translate open in another tab. Enjoy!

Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and after staring around the garage with glazed eyes addressed a mumbled incoherent remark to the policeman. "M-a-v-" the policeman was saying, "-o-"

"No,-r-" corrected the man, "M-a-v-r-o-"

"Listen to me!" muttered Tom fiercely.

"r-" said the policeman, "o-"

"g-"

"g-" He looked up as Tom's broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder.

"What you want, fella?"

"What happened-that's what I want to know!"

"Auto hit her. Ins'antly killed."

"Instantly killed," repeated Tom, staring.

"She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn't even stopus car."

"There was two cars," said Michaelis, "one comin', one goin', see?"

"Going where?" asked the policeman keenly.

"One goin' each way. Well, she-" His hand rose toward the blankets but stopped half way and fell to his side, "-she ran out there an' the one comin' from N'York knock right into her goin' thirty or forty miles an hour."

"What's the name of this place here?" demanded the officer.

"Hasn't got any name."

A pale, well-dressed Negro stepped near.

"It was a yellow car," he said, "big yellow car. New."

"See the accident?" asked the policeman.

"No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster'n forty. Going fifty, sixty."

"Come here and let's have your name. Look out now. I want to get his name."

Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson swaying in the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries.

"You don't have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!"

Watching Tom I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and standing in front of him seized him firmly by the upper arms. Wilson head-butted Tom in the face. A sickening crunch told me that his nose was broken and, in the few seconds that his grip faltered, Wilson rolled out of his clutches and ducked behind the work bench.

"Now see here there's no need for – "

The officer's words were cut short by the deafening sound of gun fire as Wilson emptied 6 rounds into his chest.

He was dead before he even touched the ground.

"I can kill you all you know!" George screamed, firing at random into the dense crowd of onlookers, "just like you killed Myrtle!"

Blood painted the ground as those unfortunate enough to not find sufficient cover fell, their lifeless eyes rolling back into their heads.

I dived behind the car, my face spattered with the blood of the fallen, and then gestured for Jordan to join me. She did, or her intestines did anyway. Her face convulsed with pain, she scrambled around blindly, stuffing them back through the hole in her abdomen in a clumsy attempt at first aid. "Internal organs _inside _the body" she mumbled. But it was already too late. She slumped to the ground, her blood seeping out around her.

"No!" I shouted. I honestly tried to help her, but then, remembering my role as a useless onlooker in this course of events, I refrained from doing so. I would reserve judgement until I had solid evidence that she was dead, remembering my father's advice.

Wilson was still shooting like a madman and half the people who had stopped by were dead. He clearly wasn't going to run out of ammunition soon. Tom had managed to get hold of an AK-47, despite them not having been invented yet, and was returning fire. Broken glass littered the ground, mixed with the blood of people no longer with us and the brown dust that gave the valley its name. I risked a look and, peeping out from behind the car, I saw that Wilson had sustained two injuries – a bullet to the foot and somehow one of his fingers was hanging by a tendon. He saw me and trained the nozzle at my face. I ducked away just as a volley of shots flew past where my head had been just seconds ago.

Tom's AK-47 was running out of ammunition and the situation looked…MA 15+.

The condemning clicks of his gun told me he was out. He knew too. I watched as he pulled a butter knife from a convenient picnic basket placed beside him for the purpose of drawing out this scene and he tied it around his gun nozzle using Jordan's small intestines. Then he charged.

Two bullets hit his knee and he stumbled, but slow he did not. His agonised yells pierced the ghostly silence of night as, with his leg trailing behind him, he lurched forward. Another two bullets – one blew off his ear, the other ripped at his sleeve, a jet of blood trailing behind the bullet as it found home. I didn't realise a man could carry on with all these injuries. But he did.

Finally Tom reached Wilson, and with a terrible roar, he cleared the table, sinking the knife into Wilson's neck and severing his oesophagus. There was no blood.

Then Wilson smiled, raised the gun's nozzle up between Tom's eyes, and pulled the trigger.

That was when I realised Wilson was a vampire.

I fumbled for a weapon, anything would do. A shard of glass? A sharp piece of bone? Ah! Yes! A wooden spoon was lying in the dust, having fallen out of the picnic basket where Tom had been. Don't think about Tom, not now. It's too late for him. It might not be too late for him…I chanced a look at Wilson – he was busy eating Tom's face off. Yep, it's too late for him. I'd have 10 seconds, at the most, before he'd realise what I was doing. I jumped out from behind the car and, making a beeline for the spoon, I ran. Slipping around in the blood of curious citizens, I reached it and snapped it in half. Two vampire- killing tools sat in the palm of either hand. I twisted around and, screaming, threw the first one at George. It landed three metres from his foot.

"No no no no no no…"

George looked up, smiling.

Owing to my sheer shock, I fing an, in schlecht übersetzten Deutsch sprechen. Der Anblick war zu viel für mich zu ertragen. Ich warf und fügt der Gestank von Blut und Tod. Nun, es war jetzt oder nie. Wir erhoben uns an, aber ich war schneller. Schob den gebrochenen löffeln durch seine Rippen, schrie ich wieder. Der Löffel blieb dort für einige Sekunden, in einer ziemlich Antiklimax Weise. Ich drehte ihn herum für eine gute Maßnahme und schließlich George sackte tot zu Boden.

I was at Gatsby's mansion again later that night, having come out of my German stupor. I was busy wrapping myself in bandages when Daisy walked in with a tray of cakes.

"Do you want anything?" she asked.

I pulled Wilson's gun from behind my back and emptied the remainder of the ammunition into her dazed face, careful to stand back far enough so as to not get my newly changed clothes bloody.

The holocaust was complete.


End file.
